


The Bright Lights on West End

by yukitan



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Brain Damage, Character Death, Depression, Drug Use, Drugs, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Health Issues, New Year's Eve, Seizures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:29:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yukitan/pseuds/yukitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident on the border between Belgium and Germany leaves Q with all his MI6 related memories, spanning over half a decade, lost to an abyss in his head. Skilled and clever as the young man is, his lover, Bond, assures the both of them that Q will eventually find his way back into his position.</p><p>Then Q starts complaining about the migraines.</p><p>(Original prompt: Shortly before NYE Bond is assigned to take down his lover Q)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bright Lights on West End

**Author's Note:**

  * For [letseatthestars](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=letseatthestars).



> Written as a late fill for 00qnewyearparty.tumblr.com and letseatthestars.tumblr.com and beta-read by pseudocoded.tumblr.com
> 
> I have no experience or prior knowledge regarding drugs, traumatic brain injuries, or mental health problems. I did, however, do a tonne of research regarding the above topics, but I do acknowledge that the internet is not a perfect source for knowledge, and therefore I do apologise sincerely if any information or portrayals in this fic are inaccurate.
> 
> Other than that, I hope that you'll enjoy reading this story. (:
> 
> Tip: start playing Death Cab for Cutie's 'The New Year' when you reach part V

**I**

_April is the cruellest month, breeding_

_Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing_

_Memory and desire, stirring_

_Dull roots with spring rain._

T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land

It was a little ironic, actually.

That Q would have a phobia of planes and get into a train accident while avoiding air travel. That he would take all precaution to avoid travelling in air, and he would be incapacitated and abducted off land transport.

It made a strange sort of sense, ish, in a far off corner in Q's head, as he tried desperately to forget everything about his identity, his job, his agents, his work, amid the iron that pounded away, a sledgehammer head, in the inside of his head, and the iron that pounded away, in his arms, his ribs, his sides and the very narrow of his bones.

Screaming, screaming away.

* * *

 

**II**

_The world's favourite season is the spring._

_All things seem possible in May._

Edwin Way Teale

Seeing James Bond return almost religiously to medical branch every single morning for a fortnight, it didn't take very long for the whole of SIS to slowly wake up to the realization that Agent 007 and the Quartermaster were in a relationship, but what truly amazed them was how long they had managed to keep it hidden.

The two men had been dating for almost a year, then started living together and were in what was essentially a civil partnership for some seven months. Yet, virtually nobody except Eve Moneypenny was aware of their arrangement.

Late April blossomed into early May. Q remained in the hospital, watched over by his own double-o agent, reading to him quietly.

Just three weeks ago, Bond had been the one to drive Q to St Pancras, the one who'd helped him pack his bag for the weeklong conference in Berlin, and the one who had waved good bye as the Eurostar pulled away, speeding across the English channel towards Brussels, Belgium, where Q was to spend the night, then take the Thalys train into Cologne, Germany, followed by the four and a half hour Intercity Express (ICE) to Berlin. Given that it was more or less a very straightforward trip to a fairly safe location, nobody had seen the need to send any security along with him.

The news of the train derailment was small, receiving a full page in the local papers. A tractor had broken down in the middle of the crossing, and the train hit the vehicle as a result, leading to a mutilated carriage, a two hour delay, six minor injuries and one severely injured passenger requiring hospital treatment, as declared by the ambulance that arrived onscreen.

Q never reached Cologne, and neither did the passenger reach the hospital. For six days after he failed to show up at the hotel, MI6 was a flurry of activity searching for the lost man, until eventually, they traced his abductors to a small village in Switzerland. Whether or not the full extent of his injuries was inflicted by his kidnapers and interrogators was unclear, but two things were definitely obvious.

The first was this; Q was very much injured and broken in too many places: A broken arm (infected), broken ribs, cracked skull, dehydration, bruises everywhere from multiple beatings, but most worrisome of all, a CT scan that showed that something might be very, very wrong with Q when he woke up.

The second, no matter what hell or high water he had gone through, the man had yielded no secrets of the crown to his captors.

He did wake up eventually, bit by bit. Starting with a slight fluttering of eyelids and the tensing of hands, then a truly disappointing moment when he suddenly sat up in the middle of the night and promptly fell back into bed within seconds.

Therefore, it was hardly a surprise when the first thing Q saw when he woke up was James' blurry figure, tilted sideways.

"Doctor?" he murmured weakly, reaching out. "My head is splitting.”

"Q!" Bond seemed surprise at first, looking like he was either going to hit or hug Q. Catching himself, he quickly stood up, "I'll get a doctor."

"No! Stay here, please."

Bond glanced at the door again, then remembered something. He pressed the call button next to the bed, and returned to his seat. "Ok."

Q smiled weakly, looking up at the older man from his position. "Hello."

"Hello, Q.”

“Who’re you?”

“James? James Bond?” He answered fondly. Disorientation was common in most patients after a traumatic event. “We’re together.”

“Really? Wow.” Q grinned, looking up at the ceiling. “What happened to me?”

“Train accident, then some details I understand you’d want to forget.”

“Oh… I see.” Q said, words trailing off as he stared at the blank white ceiling. James thought he saw a slight frown on his face. “Is that the doctor there?”

~

The next group of people to visit Q was, as expected, Q branch, with the exception of the bare minimum needed to man the fort for a few hours. James remained by Q's bedside as the fifty something people tried, and failed, to squeeze into the tiny room.

The air was light and abuzz with cheer, almost like a party, and suddenly, like sugar glass, it was shattered by a single question.

"I'm sorry, do I know any of you?"

* * *

 

**III**

_And so, we say farewell to August, the end of things ending._

Henry Rollins

The neurologist and the psychologist said the same thing, differently.

The neurologist showed them the black and white scan, of a slightly misshaped white oval with a grey mass in the centre.

Bond didn't understand the more technical aspects of it. Q looked worried, so he did as well.

The psychologist sat through weeks of sessions and interviews with Q, finally coming out with an extensive and detailed report, determining that Q was suffering from selective retrograde amnesia, specifically, most of his memories related to his work. He recognized the old M, and Bond, but could hardly remember the circumstances of their meeting and relationship. He remembered the skills he'd learnt, but not their relation to MI6. It seemed, that the brain damage from the train accident in combination to a lack of treatment, more severe beating and Q's determination to not let a single secret about MI6 slip, had resulted in very permanent neural injury and a loss of memory.

In short, Q remembered his name was Q, but nothing at all as to why and what it stood for.

There was nothing they could do about it.

~

Yet, Q was clever, and competent, and the same person at his very core. The amnesia was unfortunate, but as long as he could still work, there was no reason for him not to.

It meant that he would no longer be Q the quartermaster, and R stood in his place as the new, official head of the branch. Q would have to start again, but without a doubt in everyone's minds, he would eventually find his way back into his old position.

Life continued. Bond and Q still lived together, they went to work together, and in between missions, he went down to Q branch and sat with him.

_"You don't have to do this, James. I know I'm a burden... With everything that's happened."_

_"No, you're not. It was just an unfortunate accident."_

_"I dont even... Remember how and why we're in love..."_

_"Then just let it be." James had said, "And we can always make new reasons to be."_

_"Isn't that sweet?" Q laughed, and reached up from his position on the bed to kiss his lover._

~

The trees turned from green to orange, and slowly, the grass in the parks began to go dry. September approached, bringing with it cool breezes and chasing away the last heat of summer.

It began, as with all things, with the norm. Q in the office, working on scripts, in front of his PC.

He didn't exactly remember how he ended up on the floor, but he was on his back, his hip hurt, and he could barely move his legs. As if in an elevated state of consciousness, the concern and sound around him seemed to be muffled, as if he were listening behind a wall rather than on scene.

I'm here, he wanted to shout, I'm aware.

As if breaking from water, the words broke from his lips, and Q sat up.

"Shit, sorry, I'm ok, I'm ok." he refused the offer of help as he stood up, swaying slightly on the spot. "I'll, uh, go to the clinic. It's good."

"Really? You just collapsed and seized up..." his ex-subordinate said, concerned.

"No, it's ok." Q said, already walking, as best as he could, out of the office and into the corridor that snaked out to the rest of the building.

"Q?" Bond was walking down the corridor towards him. "What're you doing out here?"

"Uh." Q stared down the unfamiliar corridor at Bond, disorientated. "I think... I'm not... Good question, actually." he tilted his head to the side, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and gestured back to the office. "I... Guess I'll get back to work?"

"Q, I think you should go to medical."

"No, no, it's good." Q nodded his head, walking back into his office. "Uhm, wait, where is my cubicle, sorry? This doesn't look like Ronson's...?"

Bond looked after Q for a long while, a slight nagging feeling at the back of his neck. Catching a worker passing by, he quietly said below his breath, "Did something happen?"

"He fell out of his chair a while ago, seized up. Said he was going to medical...?"

"Right." He walked up to his lover and grabbed Q's arm, stirring him away from Q branch. "Q, love, we're going see Doctor Conners."

~

"Can you name me the date?"

"It's a Friday. The fourteenth of September."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in the hospital. It's three hundred and fifty three meters away from the underground, four stops away from my apartment."

"Can you remember your first job?"

"I started... First... As an assistant in my father's workshop."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"Can you name your second job? And how old were you?"

"Twenty two. IT consultant in Ronson's security co."

"And do you remember where you are working now?"

Q stared, blinked, and tried to focus. The oil and dirt of his father's car workshop, the glass and steel building that housed Robinsons Security, King the German Sheppard with the drooping ear underneath the old and new engines, a woman with light hair and crinkles around her eyes...

"No." Q shook his head, "I don't remember taking up a third job at all."

* * *

 

**IV**

_All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the old love he has forsaken._

Thomas Wolfe, Of Time and the River

007, James Bond.

In his line of work, it tended to go in that order: detached, professional; personal, emotional.

Let it not be said that James Bond was bad at what he did.

"Gabriel, love, is there something wrong?" his target for this mission, a woman twenty centimetres shorter than him with hair bleached and dyed the colour of dark honey, but most importantly the main banker to seven different drug cartels and organized crime groups.

"Nothing at all." he pressed his lips to the top of her head. The deed was done. He'd installed the required scripts into her computer, and scanned the relevant bank records to Q branch. "I'm afraid I have to leave, I've a flight to catch."

"Ok, and keep in touch?" she mused, drunk on the combination of light champagne and physical pleasure.

"Of course."

Bond buttoned his suit and left the apartment. Victoria Harbour sparkled outside, lights bright against the dark sea as the city shone, free of the heavy smog that usually enveloped the port city, if only for a brief while.

He had a plane to catch, and a partner to return to.

~

Retirement didn't suit Q.

 In his previous life, he had never once contemplated the possibility that he would leave his position before even reaching middle age.

But the Q now didn't know that, and perhaps that was a small consolation by the way of fate. He now sat, an able bodied young man with an impressive resume of notable positions and skill sets, a surprisingly large amount in his bank balance, and half a decade of memories lost to a blow to his head.

Too over qualified to work the type of job that understood his limited stress capacity and forgave medical leave on a minute’s notice while being prepared to offer medical assistance if he experienced any seizures, Q found himself unemployed (technically retired, but that was a word Q extended to men and women in their 60s past the height of their careers, not himself), bored, and his mind began to turn to some less conventional but definite methods of stimulting himself in a bid to keep himself sane.

He wasn't actually going to _use_ the drugs, of course. It was a backup plan, if the constantly twitching and scratching entity in his head proved too much and he cracked.

Well, alright, in retrospect, he was pretty prepared to take them. But again, he argued, he _hadn't_.

"You're over reacting." he said for the fifth time, to his stone faced partner. "I'm clean."

Bond ignored Q. He'd returned home after a two week long mission to Hong Kong, and he'd walked in on his long term lover sitting in the living room, in front of a polished box holding a lighter, a metal spoon, a filled syringe and nine 5g portions of cocaine precisely weighed and divided into small zip lock bags on the coffee table.

Eventually, after the doctor had cleared Q, with the report that said he was, indeed, clean, ("See, I told you!" "Shut up!") they left for home.

Bond laid down an ultimatum. Q had to find a job, and even if he himself couldn't think of a thing, surely his ex-colleagues might.

("Software engineer."

"Freelance designer."

"That won't work. Website engineering is too damn easy, and anything more advanced than what usual freelancers can do is probably top secret."

"Uh... You can set him on the millenium prize problems."

"I know he's good at math, but I think the novelty of that would wear off after a while..."

"Teacher."

"Teacher? Who'd understand a thing?"

"Not school teacher, stupid. Guest lecturer or something. I dont think you need training for that. And they don't need to deal with the students out of class."

"Isn't his knowledge a little advanced for uni students though...?"

"Children, go back to work! Stop distracting them, 007!" Actual Q frowned, yelling across the room at the group gathered around the off duty agent.

"Actually..." James frowned, as the Q branch workers around him complied, wandering back to their stations and abandoned work. "That's a pretty viable option.")

Q found a comfortable arrangement with his previous dean doing semi regular lectures at the university. It calmed Bond enough that there were enough eyes there to take Q to the hospital should anything happen, and the drive was short and irregular enough that he could do it himself.

"You're like my mother." Q told the older man as they left the university, arrangements made. "Maybe you're her reincarnation."

"Good, because that means you'll have someone to take care of your sorry self always."

~

Two days before Q was set to start his new job, all hell broke loose.

With seven years in the navy and years in the secret service, Bond was trained to be hyperaware of his surroundings twenty hour seven, even when asleep.

Which meant that whoever had taken Q from his bed in the middle of the night was very highly skilled and knew who Q was.

"What the bloody fuck are you calling me in the middle of the night for, 007?"

"Q's missing."

"What? How?"

"I don't know. But he hasn't been gone long. And whoever it was, knew the two of us. The door wasn't forced and I didn't even notice."

"Fuck. I'll dispatch a search team ASAP."

Bond pulled on his coat over his pyjamas, gun in a shoulder holster, and rushed out. Already, he could hear the police in the neighbourhood.

Forty six steps, three stories, five restaurants, three banks, twenty two houses, forty nine residences, two vacant, and nine rentals, all asleep or closed.

Two ATMs, and one 24-hour Sainsbury's directly opposite their block.

"Sorry," Bond burst into the shop, scaring the cashier, "Did you see anyone enter or exit that building the previous hour?"

"Uh, skinny bloke, mad hair?"

"Yes, yes, where did he go?"

"Came in here for a while, said something about computers and left.  Nuts."

"Which way?"

"Down the street."

The bell rang again as Bond raced out of the shop as quickly as he'd entered.

Striding down the chilly London street in flannel pyjama pants at 3am was not something Bond thought he'd be doing off mission.

"... codes are all in my personal server."

"Mate, I know you're plastered, but go to sleep, stop talking."

"This is important, R, Listen."

Bond froze.

Around the corner, Q was crouched on the sidewalk, talking to a homeless man glaring resolutely at Q, and now Bond.

"He yours?"

"Uh. Yes." Bond replied, just as the glaring lights of a police car pulled up. "Q? You have to stop now."

The young man was still talking, eyes glazed over and glistening with sweat. A touch was enough to tell Bond that the sleep walking quartermaster was feverish. The police officer was walking from his car.

"MI6?" Bond asked the police man.

"007? Is that the missing man?"

"Yes." Bond shook Q lightly, still rattling off information that thousands of people with less than proper intentions would kill for. "Darling, wake up."

"And that means that the project will have to..." Q jerked up and jumped up in surprise. "Where the hell am I? Fuck, James? What's going on?"

"Not important. Come on." Bond and the officer helped Q into the back of the car. "Let's get you to MI6."

"Where?"

"The SIS?"

"Huh?"

"You've recovered your memories, right? You're talking about something important, to Harriet? To R?"

"..."

Bond turned around to see Q slumped, eyes closed and face ashen, in the back of the car. The harsh streetlights seemed to highlight the extent of Q's tiredness even further. Eye bags, wrinkles, and cheekbones, deeper and sharper than Bond had ever noticed.

He'd honestly thought that Q was getting better, and it occurred to him that it might have been him and him alone holding that thought.

~

Q sleep walked, sleep talked, and hadn't had a proper night's rest for weeks. The knowledge in his head was lost to himself, but in his somnambulism, he continued to play the role of quartermaster in his head.

"It's entirely possible he can turn traitor and not realize it. He's severely disabled and disturbed. I dont know what anyone can do." M said, seated in his office. "The only reason why I'm telling you this is because you're his closest companion. To speak of."

"You're saying...?"

"Q will have to be placed under observed care until any information from his current time as quartermaster becomes obsolete."

"In other words, a lifetime."

"Several life times. Nobody can ever know."

James turned his head and stared out of the window. London standing, oblivious.

"It is not my decision to make. But I will stand by him, with him no matter what he decides."

"I know."

* * *

 

**V**

_He had been walking for a long time, ever since dark in fact, and dark falls soon in December._

Charlotte Riddell, The Old House on Vauxhall Walk

Miserable.

The only word Bond could use to describe Q.

His moods could be easily categorized into mildly sociable, depressed, and sedated. And he found himself in the latter more often than he would have liked, leading to further irritation as he fought with his own body to get himself up and moving each day. For a man as brilliant as he had been, and was, it was only inevitable that he would try to find some way of breaking the monotone that threatened to envelope his life.

Even James started feeling anger and irritation on Q's behalf.

And then the anger seemed to go up in smoke, when the call came in that Q had escaped the hospital with a small amount of medical supplies and more specifically, a supply of both amphetamine and midazolam.

One to stay awake, and one to fall asleep.

The decision was made fifty three days after James woke up to an empty bed, and two days after Q ran.

They called it a mercy killing.

James called it calculated murder.

 

 

~

Q measured out the sedative, exactly 6.4mg of the solution, and adjusted the tourniquet on his arm again. After he'd secured his board and route, and he was determined not to do whatever he was at risk of doing.

He bit his lip as the metal pierced his skin, a drip of blood welling up close to the needle, then deposited the syringe in the side table, released the tourniquet, and fell into a dream less, chemically induced sleep.

 

 

~

_007, report to Q branch for your mission parameters ASAP._

Bond read and reread the message.

MI6 dispatching him in the manhunt for his own lost partner.

Masking the seething anger behind his best poker face, he made his way to the correct section of the building.

"Your kit, 007." the new Q, previously R, said as the doors opened and Bond strode in.

"Isn't it against protocol for known relations of the target to be involved in missions? I thought 003 was in charge."

Precise, clever, loyal, and most importantly, young, 003 was the agent who’d been assigned the case. As reluctant as she was to do the job, her interaction with the former head of Q branch was nowhere as intimate as the other assassins, given that her double-oh status had been granted only a short while before the incident.

The woman who now headed the technical secret service eyed Bond wordlessly, before walking up to him and shoving the locked case with unexpected force against his chest. "Each and every one of us who works in this room knows who Q is, and take my word if I tell you that that man at his lowest is worth more than ten of you combined. A mission is a mission, and threats are to be eliminated. We need every resource. Complete your mission, and don’t you _dare_ , for an instant, think that you are the only person to know him.”

"Yes m'am." Taking the box, Bond complied and turned to leave the room.

 "Even in the darkest of times, there's always something in the silver lining. Remember that, James Bond." She said, turning back to walk into her own workspace.

~

Q breathed hard, holding himself tight as the cold night bit at his bare hands. Hair covered by a dark beanie, eyes hidden behind thick glasses and a four day old beard obscuring his features, Q stared resolutely at the back of the CCTV camera. Christmas songs sang cheerily around him, reminding him, almost painfully, of home.

A pair of earphones snaked from his ears to the receiver in his pocket. Hacked from an earpiece he'd nicked off one of the women who visited him repeatedly back in the hospital, the receiver brought him news of the men hunting him.

He turned, head low, and walked away from the station.

~

In the case, a revolver, a radio, and an earpiece.

Switching it on, Bond slipped it into his ear. Strangely, it was free of the static that usually pegged the ear pieces. Probably broken.

 _Even in the darkest of times, there's always something in the silver lining._ _Remember that, James Bond._

R's farewell words seemed strange to him. Having minored in English linguistics, it seemed odd that she would mix up a common a saying as she did, and she never used his full name. Bringing his attention to the case, he ran his fingers along the cloth that cushioned the gun, finding a part of the cloth that was glued taunt to the metal back of the interior. A tug, and the cloth ripped away like tissue paper, revealing a post it note pasted against the wooden backing of the box.

_James,_

_If you're reading this, that means you got my message. The earpiece is linked to 003, perhaps you can work together. Find Q before_ _we do._

_Please._

~

Q removed his hat, nodding with a small smile to the stranger woman in the house.

"Sir? Mr Keats is..."

"Shh." he pressed a finger to his lips, and shook the wrapped box under his arm. "It's a surprise. Please? For him."

"Uhm, only because it's Christmas... Mr Keats is in the kitchen."

Q smiled again and followed the woman into the house. A man sat by the small kitchen table, a Christmas hat on his head. Wrapped up in layers of sweaters and a patched blue dressing gown, Q walked up to the man and put the box on the table, hugging the man as he rose from his seat in excitement.

"Happy new year, papa."

~

James stood, looking at the London skyline from the top of the church. On a whim, he'd decided to climb St Paul's Cathedral in the middle of Christmas day to stare at the city skyline. In the office, the department had tried to put whatever they had on hold for a while to host a small party for those in office. Majority of the service had went home to tinsel wrapped firs and warm roasts, the only ones left being those with nobody to visit except each other.

_"No family to visit?"_

_"No, the cover story is that I died in a plane crash. Safety, for both mine and his."_

_"Oh.”_

_"I would have liked to see him, though." Q sighed, leaning on his lover's shoulder. "He's all by himself now."_

White smoke trailed from his mouth as he lifted the cigarette away and snuffed the red glow on the old stone.

_"My god, man. This is 300 year old marble and you burn your smokes on it? Get out of here!"_

James dropped the cigarette butt, the small white roll falling from the tip of the cathedral onto the busy streets below.

~

"Thank you for the dinner, Ms Rachel." Q nodded, pulling on his coat. "And have a good year. Father, it's chilly, you don't have to see me off."

"Come and visit again, boy." the old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he hugged him again and reintroduced him to his live in caretaker. “This is my son.”

"Yes, Mr Keats, you’ve told me." she said, then turned back to Q. "You will come back to visit?"

 _"You... Are his son? But isn't he... You_ _…_ _not here?"_

 _"Shh." Q frowned, "There have been... Circumstances, I, uh. It's Christmas and I thought I'll come and see... How he was doing._ _How is he?”_

_"The sickness is slow, but steady. He can't remember anyone at all, until just now. He seems to remember you."_

_"That's..." Q frowned, "Good. I think. He thinks I'm still in university."_

_"He does. But your father is a_ _clever_ _man, even if his age is getting to him."_

 _"I know._ _”_

"I... doubt I'll be able to." Q shrugged, "I will try my best. Please take care of him.”

"I will.” She smiled, helping the old man back into the house. "Come on, Mr Keats, it's cold. Good night!”

"My son, a Cambridge boy, in his final year, you know? Isn't he clever? Have I told you about him was he was a child, in the garage…" his praises trailed off as the door closed, leaving Q alone in the night.

_"My favourite thing about the new year is all the lights." James said, suddenly._

_"Really? I've always seen them as a really big public hazard. Like hundreds of little fire sparks ready to burst and explode." Q looked up. It was fifty minutes past midnight, and they'd just escaped from the countdown party to go walking down Piccadilly circus._

_"Yes, but it'll only last so long. London'll survive for a while without you."_

_"Hmph." Q smirked, "Not with your track record, it won't."_

Q's smile faded.

The deed was done.

~

The only news 003, and thus, 007, received was the news that Q had yet to be found. If the man wanted to disappear, memory or not, he would, and could, do so without a trace.

“That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” 003 asked. Without any leads, she’d found herself staking out Q’s childhood home, an old car repair shop in the London suburbs. The apartment had been sold, but the garage space under the house remained vacant.

“Somebody visited Q’s father. Nobody ever visits Q’s father.”

“Think that’s Q?”

“Likely.”

“Where does he live?”

“With a caretaker on the opposite end of the city. He’s got dementia, poor man. I’m sending you the address on your mobile.”

James squared his shoulders and left the empty house.

~

He watched from the roof as the two women talked from the doorway. From his position, he could see into the window of the house, where an elderly man lay, asleep in his bed. He didn’t look like Q at all, though it was probably the white hair and lack of glasses that made up most of the difference.

The brunette nodded to the older care taker, turning to walk away from the house.

“She did see him. ‘A young man with glasses and a beard who called himself Mr Keats’ son’, to be more specific. He gave his father a present, had dinner, and left about two hours ago.”

“Seems unusually flashy for a fugitive.” Q branch replied on the other end of the line.

“I don’t know.” 003 said as she entered her car, looking up at the house she’d just left. “I have a feeling that he doesn’t care about being found.”

“What’re you saying?”

“Just a premonition. We aren’t exactly looking to take him to Disney land, no?”

The car drove off.

~

He returned to the rental room, removed his hat and stared at himself in the tiny bathroom mirror, the silver tarnished and covered in black spots. Running a hand over the growing beard on his chin, he pushed his hair back with a wet hand and picked up the razor.

Five minutes later, he emerged, cleanly shaven and looking twenty years younger. Putting his hat and scarf back on, he took the central line down to Tottenham Court Road, joining the crowds on the streets. From a café, crowded with families and couples and various other groups, he purchased a cup of tea in a red and brown paper cup, returning the barista’s festive greeting.

One white line snaked into his ear, as he listened to the small voice of the woman they called ‘quartermaster’ say. “I have a visual match on Q. He’s reappeared.”

 _Must be hard, working on a holiday_ , Q thought.

Once outside, he pulled off his hat, ran a hand through his messy brown curls, and slowed his pace to a casual stroll; admiring the central London sights as the city prepared for the impending New Year.

~

Somehow he wound up in Soho.

It wasn’t even New Year’s Eve yet.

He ended up in one of those open top bars again, a shot of whisky at hand and the late night crowd before him. It was chilly, but he’d survive.

A pair of young parents with a small child, babbling happy with the stuffed reindeer in his pram, walked by, a dozen more filling the space as they strode past. A young man, in a bundle of mismatched jumpers and a dark blue scarf ambled by leisurely, face turned away as he looked into the shop fronts, a steaming beverage in his hand. Another man in a fake beard and a Santa Claus costume was playing with a group of small children, despite Christmas being over already. The week between New Year’s and Christmas had always felt a little weird to him and Q alike. Neither here nor there, almost interchangeable and equally brilliantly celebrated…

“I have a visual match on Q, he’s reappeared.”

The young man in the dark blue scarf pulled his beanie off.

~

Q sat in his rental apartment, staring at the door. When the door knob shook, he tensed ever so slightly, forcing himself to stay put even as every fibre of his body screamed danger at him.

"Q, don’t ever do that again."

"What are you doing here?" Q yelled in surprise and shock. "What the FUCK are you doing here?"

"Chasing you." James said, hands held away from his sides. “Listen to me, I’m unarmed, look.”

“No, stop, stop right there.”

“Q, please, you don’t have to do this.” James took a step towards him, Q relaxing a little as the agent pulled him in an embrace. “We can work this out.”

"I’m not the same person you love. You know that, I know that." Q said sadly. “I’m sorry it’s come down to this.”

 Slamming his elbow into James' weaker shoulder, he twisted around and pulled the gun from the agent’s shoulder holster under his jacket in one fluid motion. The lights clicked green, even as Q flipped it over and brought the butt up to hit James’ solar plexus. For a split second, Q looked surprised at the weight of the gun in his hand, as if he hadn't expected to be able to do that at all. Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Q darted into the small bathroom and kicked the solid wood shut on James' face. Fumbling in the back of his cost, his breathe forced and heavy from Q’s hit, James pulled out his second gun, aiming the nozzle at the lock.

"Q, DON'T--"

~

003 kicked open the hotel door, gun poised and ready. The two consecutive gun shots still rang in her ears. Even before she stepped into the room, she knew.

"007, stand down."

The other agent’s hand fell to his side, wrapped around the still smoking gun, standing in front of the splintered wooden door. The smell of gunpowder and fresh blood mingled in the air, a scorched, iron and salt scent.

She didn't have to look into the bathroom to confirm what she already knew.

* * *

 

_"My favorite thing about the new year is all the lights." James said, suddenly._

_"Really? I've always seen them as a really big public hazard. Like hundreds of little fire sparks ready to burst and explode." Q looked up. It was fifty minutes past midnight, and they'd just escaped from the countdown party to go walking down Piccadilly circus._

_"Yes, but it'll only last so long. London'll survive for a while without you."_

_"Hmph." Q smirked, "Not with your track record, it won't."_

_James grinned in return, a boyish, wolfish smile on a man who should be, but wasn't, too old._

_"What's your resolution?"_

_"Are you drunk?" Q peered at James face in light. "You look a bit flushed."_

_"Only as tipsy as you are."_

_"Hmm..." he half smiled, one side of his mouth tipped up in that expression that only he could really master. "I want to see these lights again next year, then."_

_"This isn't a birthday wish." James laughed, "It's a resolution."_

_"Promise?"_

_"Promise."_


End file.
